


Say it With Cake

by ghostl0rd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Reality, Baking, F/M, Food Kink, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, Songfic, scientius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostl0rd/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowe wants baking lessons. Ignis  wants Crowe.<br/>These things have a way of working themselves out.</p><p>Ignis/Crowe. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say it With Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetCrazy_DramaQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetCrazy_DramaQueen/gifts).



> this oneshot is kinda songfic-ish in the sense that these two nerds love opera music
> 
> unbetaed because my beta's out catching pokemon

Another gruelling day defending crown and country, done and dusted.  Crowe was almost done blow-drying the last section of her hair when Nyx appeared beside her at the sink, fresh from the shower, unusually chipper for some reason.  She watched him in the corner of her eye while he lathered on the shaving cream, eventually switching off the hair dryer ten minutes later to poke him in the side with her hairbrush.  

“Hey.”

Nyx turned his body a little toward her to show he was listening.  “Hmm?”

“Hot date?” Crowe guessed. 

“ _Very_  hot,” Nyx smiled, looking absolutely predatory.  

Crowe resumed brushing her hair, happy for him and more than a little relieved.  Nyx only ever made the effort to shave if he knew he was getting lucky, and seeing as it was a Friday night and he was using the  _expensive_ shaving foam reserved for such occasions—obviously  _very_ lucky indeed.  

With the recent ceasefire forcing all of them to sit on their hands, fighting the withdrawal of not being able to use magic had created an insufferable monster out of Nyx—whether he was purposefully butting heads with Luche or harassing Drautos to let him take double shifts on the border. A night out would alleviate the collective migraine they all got just from watching him pace restlessly back and forth.

“Accountant?” Crowe guessed.  Nyx was a moth to the flame with these office-types; constantly lurking outside the administrative block like a bloodhound on the hunt for a bone.  Ha,  _bone._

“ _Paralegal_ ,” Nyx corrected, half his face clean-shaven when he winked at her in the mirror. He tilted his head up to the light to inspect his handiwork.  “I helped him carry some boxes; we got to second base in a storage closet; turns out he’s got an extra ticket to a Gullwings concert."

"Happy for you Nyx,” Crowe said.  Two months ago it had been an intern named Maria.   _Nice to see him moving up the corporate ladder_ , she thought, hiding a laugh.

"Thanks," said Nyx.  "I've been listening to their top hits all afternoon, you know, to brush up." He gestured vaguely with his razor.  "On the computer, on my phone, in the car, in the _van_ —”

Crowe laughed.  "So  _that's_  why Libertus was so annoyed when you guys got back."

"Necessary evil," Nyx shrugged, not really caring.  He went to work on the other half of his face, rinsing the razor intermittently under running water. "Play my cards right and dessert won't be the  _last_ thing on the menu, if you know what I mean.” 

Crowe bumped shoulders with him. "Horndog."

“ _Woof, woof._ ” Nyx winked.  He rinsed off, pat his face dry with a spare towel and started applying moisturizer. “How about you Doctor C?  Plans for the weekend?”

Crowe reached forward and unplugged her hair dryer. “Ignis is going to show me how to bake a cake and—” 

“Oh he  _is_ , is he?” Nyx interrupted, snickering. Crowe zapped him with a tiny lightning spell in his side in retaliation and he yelped. 

“ _Stop_.”

“He _likes_ you." Nyx insisted stubbornly. "And honestly, what’s  _not_  to like about a guy who  _isn't_  intimidated by a strong woman?  Quit acting like the equation’s one-sided.”

Crowe set down her brush, frowning at her reflection in the mirror.  “You think?” 

“I  _know_ ,” Nyx said. “Those cupcakes he leaves on your desk might not be flowers, but they’re definitely sending the same message.” He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders; all comrade-like.  “And the message is that he’s  _into_  you, and that he would very much like  _in_ to you.”

Crowe sighed and started putting up her hair.  “Supportive friend is supportive,” she muttered.  Nyx bumped shoulders with her.

“Right friend is _right_ ,” Nyx replied.

 

~

 

Their friendship started with him struggling to perfect a fire spell—Crowe had been heading past the Training Ground when she heard the explosion, instinctively hurrying inside to see if anyone had been hurt.  There she’d found Ignis lying dazed, glasses askew, in a charred Ignis-shaped crater in the centre of the room.  Without a second thought she warped to his side and waved a quick scanning spell over him to see if he’d sustained any internal injuries. 

“Are you alright?” Crowe asked, lowering her hand as he came out of his stupor.  She helped him sit up, then righted his glasses for him. “I heard you from outside…”

“Cheers.  I um… _well_.” A weak laugh.  “I’d expected the explosion to be _bigger_ , if you can believe that,” Ignis said, smiling self-deprecatingly at her.  He studied her for a moment, then stuck out a gloved hand. “Ignis.”

“Crowe,” Crowe replied, shaking it.  And then she laughed a little, realizing the irony.  “ _Ignis_?”

He sighed ruefully and nodded. Crowe patted his shoulder consolingly.

“I can give you a few pointers if you want.”

 

~

 

Nyx finished stuffing his gear back into his locker, and dropped onto the bench beside Crowe.  He waved his hand in front of her face. 

“Paging Doctor C.  Doctor C to the front desk.”

Crowe startled out of her reverie and blinked sheepishly at him.   Nyx smiled, grey eyes warm as he punched her playfully in the shoulder.

“You’re replaying everything in your head, aren’t you?” he said.

She nodded. “You’re reading into it too much.”

“Perfect gentleman or not, he’s still a _guy_ , Crowe.”

“He’s just being _friendly_." Crowe insisted.  "And I _am_ interested in learning how to bake.”  Ignis' passion for it was endearing enough that she'd decided to try her hand at it.  

“Uh huh.” Nyx said.  He dusted off his jeans unnecessarily.  “Alright, field test.”

“Field test?”

“When you go over to his place tonight—dress like you would for a date. Something fifty-fifty—you know; a little sexy, a little casual.” Nyx gestured vaguely at her.  “And if baker boy doesn’t make any moves then I will buy you lunch every day for a month.”

“And if he does?”

“Well.  That’s up to _you_ , isn’t it?” Nyx replied, grinning fiendishly.

 

~

 

An hour and a half later, Crowe decided a loose turtleneck sweater over a miniskirt (black pantyhose underneath, of course) and knee-high boots qualified as ‘a little sexy, a little casual’. She’d sent a quick mirror selfie over to Nyx as proof, and Nyx had sent back an enthusiastic string of _ok_ hand sign emojis and winky faces. Great start.

Ignis answered the doorbell on the second ring, and Crowe had completely missed his reaction to her outfit because of the music she heard coming from inside.  His house had been soundproof up until the moment he opened the door. 

“Is that _Habanera_?” Crowe asked, peering curiously past Ignis through the open doorway.  “From _Carmen_?”

Ignis stared, equally surprised before a warm smile spread across his face. “You listen to opera.” He sounded pleased.

“Sometimes,” Crowe admitted, following Ignis through a narrow hallway where she unzipped her boots, and then into the living room where his sound system was set up around the television.  Crowe picked up the CD case lying on the coffee table.  “I have this on my phone. For meditating and concentrating.”

“I guess we have that in common,” Ignis said. He motioned for her to follow.  “Kitchen’s this way.”

“Copy that, baker boy.”

Ignis paused, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Baker boy?”

Crap. Inside joke.  She racked her brain and came up with a quick save.  “We all have our identifiers.  The guys call me ‘spirit fingers’.” She cringed a little at the honesty.

“And I’m...baker boy?”

“It should really be ‘baker’s man’, like from the nursery rhyme, but the point of identifiers is that they’re not meant to sound cool.”

“Nursery rhyme,” Ignis repeated, still lost.

“You know,” Crowe played Patty Cake against his chest as she recited it.  “ _Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as—“_

 _“—as you can_.” Ignis finished, catching her fingers with a laugh.  “I see.  Clever.”

Crowe had been poised to tease him some more when she realized it was the first time she’d ever seen him without gloves.  Naturally, the first thing to do was stare. His hands were surprisingly callused for someone who pushed paper on a daily basis—the pads of his forefingers noticeably flat when they’d brushed against her skin. 

“Yeah.  I get that a lot.” Ignis said, as if reading her mind. 

Crowe glanced up at him feeling sheepish.

“Sorry—”

“Nothing to be sorry about.  I’m just as surprised about yours.” Ignis turned her hand over in his, one finger gently tracing a line over the centre of her palm. Crowe’s breath hitched involuntarily at the sudden intimacy of the act, feeling a shiver run through her spine.

“Um.”

Ignis let go, smiling guilelessly. 

“They’re soft, for someone in your line of work.  Not that it’s a bad thing.”

Crowe casually hid them behind her back, trying to will her heartbeat into relaxing. “Side effect of _Cure_.  You?” 

“Mostly from the kitchen,” Ignis replied.  “Speaking of—this way.” He turned and exited down through the hallway, one hand motioning over his shoulder for her to follow.

Crowe squished her cheeks in between her palms, breathing deeply. 

Oh, boy.

 

~

 

Ignis’ kitchen was exactly as Crowe pictured it would be— something out of one of those celebrity chef homes: soft, charcoal grey cupboards to match the décor of the living room, large two-door steel fridge with an ice dispenser, copper pans hanging from a rack suspended over one of the two kitchen islands—yes, _two._ One for meal prep –as indicated by the glass bowls and tiny dishes filled with the ingredients for her first baking lesson—and the other for the stove top and oven.  Crowe doubted she’d get a tour of upstairs, but she suspected this had to be the largest room in the house.  And the fully fledged mage only had one word to offer despite the extensive vocabulary she used to manipulate the matter around her:

“Wow.”

She sensed Ignis’ hand hovering at the small of her back, more or less inching her forward and glanced back at him, not wanting to overstep.

“It's more or less a rite of passage.” Ignis said, chuckling.  "Go ahead."

Crowe left no stone unturned in her exploration—opening all the cupboards, poking her head in the pantry, the fridge, picking up and studying the tiny vials of spices all neatly labelled in his tidy script, even unsheathing a few of his knives from the rack to inspect them. 

“This isn’t just a hobby for you, is it,” she said, when her inspection came to an end.  When Ignis didn’t answer immediately she turned. “Ignis?” 

Ignis, who had been previously scowling at his cell phone, glanced up guiltily, cheeks slightly red. “Sorry.  My phone it—”

“Does the king need you?” Crowe asked.  She started for the hallway.  “We can reschedule if this is a bad time—”

“No, no, no,” Ignis interrupted quickly, the blush on his face deepening. He scowled at his phone one last time and pocketed it. “It’s just one of Prompto’s pranks.”

“You could always set him on fire,” Crowe hinted.

Ignis laughed.  “Don’t tempt me.”

He pulled two aprons from a nearby drawer, offering her the spare. Crowe snorted at the block lettering on hers.

“ _Kiss the chef_?”

Ignis was visibly embarrassed.  “Birthday present from Prompto.”

“Of course.” Crowe put it on, following Ignis’ lead when he rolled up his sleeves. He handed her a cake tin.

“First things first we preheat the oven—which I’ve gone ahead and done—and grease the pans.”

He tore a paper towel from the holder, passed it to her and slid a tiny dish with butter in the space between them. 

“Just get a little of the butter onto the towel and rub it on the bottom and sides.”  He tore off another paper towel and demonstrated for the first pan, then let Crowe do the other two.  She’d never moved more awkwardly in her entire life.  If Ignis found it amusing, it didn’t show on his face.

“Done,” said Crowe. “Now what?”

“Next, we take some flour and dust it all over the insides of the pan.  I prefer cocoa if it’s a chocolate cake, so we’ll use that instead.”

“You’re the boss,” Crowe said. 

They poured out the excess into the sink afterward.

“Three cakes is a bit much for a first time baker,” Crowe couldn’t help but say.

“No, it’s one cake.  Just with three layers.”  Said Ignis.  “I told Prompto if he aced his history paper I’d make one for him.”

“Positive reinforcement?” Crowe smiled.

“ _Exactly_ ,” said Ignis.  “Commander Drautos do the same?”

“Unless you count him _positively_ deliberating on potential dishonorable discharges from the glaive.”

Ignis chuckled.  He pulled over a large mixing bowl and set it in front of her. Crowe took stock of the ingredients as she added them—flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, salt.   Ignis then handed her a whisk and she mixed them all together. 

“See?” Ignis said. “Nothing to it.”

Crowe knew better than to take someone who’d had years of practice at facevalue.  “ _Sure_ , Ignis.”

“Now for the wet ingredients.”

Eggs, buttermilk, hot water and vegetable oil. _So far, so good,_ Crowe was thinking, right up until Ignis plugged in a hand mixer and held it out to her. She pushed it back to him.

“It might be better if you do it.”

“Afraid it’ll explode?” Ignis teased.

“ _Ha_ ,” Crowe laughed weakly. Ignis pushed the mixer into her hand, ignoring her protests about causing a mess.    

“Messes can be _cleaned_.”

His cell phone went off unexpectedly then, and Crowe sighed in relief. Excusing himself, Ignis disappeared into the hallway to answer, the music floating through the house lowering slightly a minute later. 

 _Ride of the Valkyries_ , Crowe thought.  Perfect for the situation.

She took a deep breath, flicked on the mixer at its slowest setting, but hesitated at the last minute, switching it off again.

“I’ll just wait." 

She paced around the kitchen for a bit, fiddled with her phone, eventually switching on the mixer again. The music in the house rose in volume again.  Crowe stopped pacing and glared at the mixer, picking it up with a vengeance.

“I have killed demons,” she muttered. 

_Okay so I just…_

The mixer had barely touched the surface of the batter when she decided to retreat—

Ignis’ hand closed firmly over hers on from behind, stopping her.   Gently, he had her lower the mixer into the bowl, guiding her hand as the ingredients sloshed together.

“See?  Nothing to it.”

Crowe nodded.  Tried to keep her focus strictly on the task at hand; _not_ on the solid body pressed against her back.  Gods, did he smell amazing—a pleasant combination of pine soap and the fading bergamot notes of his cologne. A nice step up from the smelly barracks, that was for sure.

_He’s just being helpful._

_He’s a_ guy _._

_He has a lot of female friends.  He probably does this all the time._

_Field test._

Field test.

“And done,” Ignis murmured. He started to move away when Crowe turned completely to face him, hyper aware of the close proximity that it would bring them.  Ignis tensed, eyes widening, obviously not anticipating that.

 _They’re more green than blue,_ Crowe observed, absently. 

“Erm. Crowe?”

“This is a thing you usually do, right?” Crowe gestured between the two of them.  “With all your friends?”

Rather than answer, Ignis moved away, taking the mixer with him. He divided the batter evenly between the three pans they had greased and dusted and placed them all carefully in the oven, setting the timer. 

“Ignis—”

“Just the ones I like.”

“So we’re good friends then.”

“I…suppose.” He sounded hesitant. Crowe pursed her lips.

Ignis picked up the dirty bowls and dishes, stacking them neatly in the sink before running them under cold water for a minute.  He re-joined her at the counter and pulled out a clean mixing bowl, also pushing over the last of the ingredients.  Butter, cream cheese, cocoa, icing sugar, milk.  

“And now for the icing,” he said.

 

~

 

Save for _E lucevan le stelle_ playing in the background (further worsening the mood of the situation) and the mixer whipping the chocolate buttercream nicely in the bowl in front of her, the kitchen was dead silent; the conversation and easy camaraderie Crowe had built with Ignis over the course of a few months completely stagnated.  He was still friendly and _nice_ , but it felt put on to her, _fake_.

Crowe switched off the mixer.

“Ignis—”

Ignis held out a spatula to her, still smiling.  “Use this that to scrape off the sides and mix it in with the rest.”

Crowe reluctantly went to work. Ignis went to the oven and crouched, checking his watch against the timer.  He walked back to her and peered in.  “Good work,” he said—to the icing bowl.  

_“Svanì per sempre il sogno mio d'amore….L'ora è fuggita, e muoio disperato!”_

Crowe vaguely wondered if he was avoiding her.

 

~

 

After ditching their aprons, Ignis took her on a tour of upstairs while they waited for the cakes to bake.  It was pretty standard: bathroom with a combined bathtub and shower, linen closet and two decent-sized bedrooms, one of which Ignis had converted into an office (naturally).  Crowe wasn’t surprised to see a mountain of paperwork on the desk.

“No rest for the wicked,” Ignis chuckled, by way of explanation.  He closed the door and they started toward the stairs.

“You’re hardly wicked.” Crowe said, following him down, one hand hovering over the banister.  “Actually, one of the few good men I know.”

“And you know good men.”

“Sure.” Crowe shrugged, thinking of her brothers.

“I meant outside the glaive,” Ignis said, stopping unexpectedly at the foot of the stairs. Crowe caught herself just short of bumping into him and steadied herself.

“Outside the glaive?”

Ignis stepped closer.  Somehow even with the step putting them at eye level, he was able to loom over her.

“I...don’t think we’re on the same page.” Crowe said awkwardly.

“I’m starting to see that,” Ignis said.  He took a step back, turning away. “Sorry,” he added over his shoulder. Crowe tilted her head after him as she watched him go.

Weird.

 

~

 

Once back inside the kitchen, Ignis’ head and shoulders had disappeared into the fridge.   Crowe went over to the oven and crouched, inhaling the warm, rich aroma of chocolate greedily.

“Two minutes left,” Crowe called.  She straightened up and stretched, fighting off a yawn. 

“Drink?” Ignis offered.  Crowe nodded and pulled out a seat at the dining table.

“What do you have?”

“Let’s see…juice, water, cola, beer, wine.  Or; if you’re after something warm I can fire up the rig and make you coffee.” He leaned back out of the fridge to look at her.  “Your choice.”

“Water’s good.”

Ignis poured two glasses, passed Crowe hers, then moved to the oven just as the timer went off.  He donned some oven mitts and set the cakes onto the cooling rack. 

“I forgot to ask earlier,” he said, while Crowe drank, “but have you eaten anything?”

“Not since lunch,” Crowe admitted, setting her empty glass down.  “I was planning on grabbing takeout on the way home.”

“In that case, how’s pizza sound?” 

“Oh.” Crowe tried to backtrack, feeling guilty.  “No, you don’t have to do that—”

“I’m mostly suggesting because I haven’t eaten either,” Ignis said, joining her at the table.  “Pizza sound good to you?”

“We’ll split the bill,” Crowe conceded.

“No, you’re the guest.  Next baking lesson, you shout.” Ignis replied.

 

~

 

Crowe went with Ignis to answer the door when the pizza arrived, the delivery person shamelessly giving Ignis the once-over while Ignis counted the notes into their hand. Crowe didn’t know what made her do it, but she shifted out of the shadows to stand beside Ignis and rest her hand lightly on his shoulder. The delivery person blushed a deep red and stumbled backwards down the steps in defeat. Crowe flashed them a smile and closed the door on their face.

“What was that all about?” Ignis chuckled, setting the box onto the dining table. Crowe found a jug of water in the fridge and refilled their glasses.

“Thought I’d have a little fun,” Crowe said, laughing as well.  “Nyx and I do it all the time—people always jump to the wrong conclusions about us, so our inside-joke has become a habit.” She tore a slice from the pie, cheese trailing after it, and took a large bite.  Heaven. She closed her eyes and savored it.

“So you and Nyx—you two aren’t...”

Crowe reached for a second slice, smiling.  She knew where this was going, but wasn’t about to make it easier for him.  “Nyx and I aren’t…?”

“ _Involved_.” Ignis elaborated, sounding awkward. 

 _“Gods no,”_ Crowe laughed, around a mouthful of cheese and salami.  “He’s my brother.”

Ignis finally picked up a slice and bit into it, looking somewhat relieved. 

As she watched him in the corner of her eye, a light-bulb slowly flickered to life in Crowe’s head, the lilting notes of _Flower Duet_  lifting her spirits. 

 

~

 

“Make sure you get an even amount of icing in between the layers,” Ignis instructed beside Crowe twenty minutes later. Crowe had finished stacking two layers of the cake and was presently, trying very hard not to elbow him into silence while she slathered on the buttercream for the final layer.  She’d never experienced such nit-pickiness, not even from Luche, and _that_ was saying something. She stepped back and let Ignis set the last layer on top, holding in a laugh.  The _concentration_ on the man's face. _You’d think he was trying to disarm a bomb at the rate he’s going_ , Crowe thought _._

Ignis stuck out his hand, like he was in the middle of surgery.

“Spatula please.”

Crowe handed it over.  He slathered on the last of the icing on the top and sides, turning the glass cake tray by the base as he did.  Crowe pulled the icing bowl closer to her when he finally pushed it aside and slyly swiped a generous amount onto her finger.  She waited for him to stand upright again.

“And, done,” Ignis said at last. He started to turn.  “Now all that’s left is to—”

Crowe smeared icing right down his cheek. Ignis stared unblinking, shocked beyond belief. 

“You did _not_ just…”

Crowe shrugged and popped her finger into her mouth, peering innocently at him.  The overture to _The Barber of Seville_  felt humorously apt for the moment—if not dramatic. 

“I did not just… _what_ , Ignis?”

“Very mature.” Ignis looked around for the paper towels.

“Looking for something?” Crowe held up the roll mockingly.  She warped out of Ignis’ reach before he could get to it. He scowled a little, crossing his arms.

“Not funny Crowe.”

"You need to learn to relax,” Crowe said. 

“Hand it over.”

“Alright.” Crowe sighed, walking over. She held it out to him. 

“Thank yo— _Crowe_!”

Crowe had vanished, reappearing in the living room, holding her sides from splitting as she burst into laughter. Oh, the look on his face. _Priceless_.  She hid the roll of paper towels behind her back just as he emerged. 

“You’re going to pay for that,” Ignis said.

“But I thought _you_ were paying,” Crowe retorted. Ignis’ eyes narrowed at the quip, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching.  “And besides, messes can always be _cleaned_ —”

Ignis lunged, too fast for Crowe to react. She let out a shriek as he tackled her into the couch, trying to wrestle the paper towels off her.  She kicked and flailed and squirmed like a fish out of water.  Warping was out of the question, lest she wound up splinching him.  They rolled onto the floor, wrestling for control.

“Let go already,” Ignis grunted.

“ _You_ let go,” Crowe laughed. The paper towels bounced onto the ground and rolled a few feet away. She and Ignis traded a quick glance, and scrambled over each other to try to get to it. Not above playing dirty she elbowed him in the stomach and crawled toward it.   Ignis caught her by the ankle just as she reached it, dragging her back. 

“ _Enough_!” He said, pinning her hands above her head, equal parts flustered and exasperated.  Crowe bit her lip, and snorted, trying to hold in a laugh at the chocolate smear glistening against his cheek. 

“Alright, yield.” Crowe conceded. Ignis eyed her warily, but crawled off, taking the roll with him and helping her sit up. He was in the middle of tearing off a leaf when Crowe stopped him. “I’ll do it.”

“War reparations?” Ignis joked. He handed her the napkin, frowning in confusion when she pushed it aside.  “Um—”

“Quiet.” Crowe shuffled closer on her knees and swiped the chocolate off with her thumb as best she could...then traced it onto his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, the thrill of watching his gaze darken and hearing his breath catch unspooling something wild and hot, low in her belly.

“Crowe...” He whispered, sounding halfway between breathless and reverent.  She was one hundred and ten per cent certain they were on the same page now.

Crowe leaned in, close enough that his breath mixed in with hers, pulling off his glasses and setting them aside.  

“Messes can always be cleaned, right?” Crowe whispered.

“I think you’ll have to be thorough,” Ignis said, voice thick. 

He tugged her to him and closed the gap, groaning a little when Crowe licked all over his open mouth, swallowing up the last of the chocolate before sealing her lips to his, plunging in deep.  Feeling his hands beginning to wander, she slithered into his lap, and straddled him, humming in approval when his hands slid under her sweater, up her sides to curve around her breasts, then  back down again to her hips.

He broke off suddenly, breathing ragged, a deep blush on his cheeks.  Crowe finally registered the growing pressure against her ass and suspected he had probably stopped out of embarrassment.

“So.” Crowe stated, grinding slowly against him, the delicious friction getting her wetter. "I'm one of the ones you _like_?" 

Ignis snaked an arm around her waist and rolled them over. Crowe winced a little as her head bumped against the floor.

“Fuck. Sorry, are you—”

“You dork.” Crowe said, dragging him back down to her with a laugh.  Ignis kissed the shell of her ear, one hand carding through her hair to remove her hairclip, letting her waves splay against the carpet.  

“You’re the _only_ one I like,” he murmured. He kissed her deeply, then pulled back a little, smiling at her as her arms looped around his neck. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

Crowe slyly slid her foot up his calf.  “Don’t hold back on _my_ account,” she said. Ignis laughed. 

“You look gorgeous tonight—not that you aren’t at any other given time, mind. I've been meaning to tell you.  I didn’t know how to without...scaring you off, I suppose.  I do value your friendship and I didn’t want to lose that.”

He was definitely one of the good ones. “Guess you lucked out.”

“Guess I did.”

Ignis bent his head again—

Someone banged loudly on the door.

“ _IGGGYYYYYY_!” A voice sang, shrill and off tune.

Ignis swore under his breath, rolling off Crowe with a groan.

“Is that Prompto?” Crowe asked as Ignis pulled her to her feet. She smoothed down her skirt as best she could and straightened her top as the banging continued.

_“I want my cake! You promised!”_

_“Don’t you mean_ our _cake?”_ A second voice said.  

"Prince Noctis," Crowe realized.

“It would appear,” Ignis muttered. He picked up her hairclip off the floor along with his glasses and held it out to her, expression apologetic. “Sorry.  I can get rid of them if you want--”

"Don't.  They'll hold it against you if you do. Trust me: I grew up with boys." Crowe took back her clip,pecked him quickly on the lips, then made a start on her hair, pulling it up in a messy bun. “We'll tag-team it: you get the door, and I’ll get the plates.  We can have fun cleaning up later.”

“Positive reinforcement?” Ignis quipped.  

“Supportive friend is supportive,” Crowe replied with a wink.  

She disappeared into the kitchen as the opening notes of _Nessun Dorma_ began to fill the house.

 

* * *

 

**-fin-**

 


End file.
